


From Teufort With Love

by texastoasted



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, dad!spy, these are all super sappy and im dying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 19:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15226362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texastoasted/pseuds/texastoasted
Summary: a series of unrelated drabbles I write when doing ficlet requests on my tumblr!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> some dad!spy for scoutsbonksoda!

“Boys, you really didn’t have to come all the way up here.”

Her smile is like the sunset coming over the horizon, and she wraps both of them up in her arms, perfume kissing the bottom of his chin. “But you wanted us to,” Scout adds, and squeezes the both of them. His mother squeals.

“Oh, yes I did!”

It’s a foreign feeling, almost to the point of discomfort. Spy knows they have a lot to talk about, so he drives Scout’s mother’s convertible while his son presses himself as far into the front from the backseat as he can and talks a mile a minute. Spy can see where he got the trait. His tie flutters in the breeze, and pealing laughter follows them down the highway.

Family is a new term.

They make Scout’s mother a classic French lunch, complete with a little Eiffel tower statue that Scout bought him for a begrudging Christmas one year. Spy’s attempts to teach Scout the ways of French cooking are slow and painful. His son mostly leans over the back of the chair and watches while he talks. The glimmer of awe in his son’s eyes fans the warmth in his soul in a way he has not experienced before.

“It was absolutely insane. I was unstoppable. I was so close to their final point, and, and Pyro-remember Pyro, ma? Pyro fucking blasted this Soldier that was screaming like a stuck pig, blasted his own rocket back into his face! He was their last hope. Easy win.” Scout leaned back in his chair and beamed.

She was glowing with love. She turned her sea-glass eyes to him, chin perched on a perfect wrist. “Is he exaggerating at all?”

“Non, not at all. The rest of the team was only dead because I had infiltrated the base first.”  
Scout’s jaw dropped open, and he whipped his head back and forth between his mother and father.

“Okay, uh-that’s not what happened.”

That pealing, windchime laugh. It wasn’t where he thought he’d be, rubbing a woman’s feet with French lotion and watching their son go through old sketchbooks, but really, he wasn’t complaining.

Not one bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dad!spy for an anonymous request!

He has a lot to make up for, he knows it.

It pains him like a knife in his back whenever he overhears Scout talking to another member on their team about his absent father, missing countless birthdays and baseball practices. It chokes his throat like thick smoke whenever he sees a drawing of Scout’s and he wants so badly to ruffle his hair like his father used to do to him. His fingers ache, joints poised above the boy’s shoulder, inches away from a warm hand on the arm. I was there, he wants to scream. I was there. Not for everything, he knows it. But he was there for most of it.

One of the reasons why he loves her so dearly-she doesn’t ask many questions. Or, rather, when she does, she understands when to stop. Spy couldn’t explain exactly why he was showing up as a different man every three to four weeks, but she went along with it for the sake of their son. 

“Scout,” she’d say, voice as soothing as honey, “I want you to meet my boyfriend.”

“I don’t want to.”

She cast a tired look at him and moved to pick up their son. He was facing the wall, chubby little arms clutching a stuffed elephant.

“I miss Charles.”

“…I know, honey, but he had to go away. He loves you very much. More than you will ever know. James is very nice, and he has something to show you!”

Scout couldn’t resist the promise of a gift. He turned his head, a tuft of golden hair uncharacteristic of either of his parents, and stuck his lip out.

“Hello, Scout, you’re a very handsome boy. I heard you like baseball, hm? Would you like to play catch with your new mitt?”

Every time Spy threw the ball he felt a little bit more resentment build up in Scout. 

“Why can’t you just stay the same for a while?” his mother would plead. “Please, it kills him when he gets really attached to one of…you.”

It killed him, too. He knows Scout probably does not remember what he does-one of the first times he ever got into a fight, Spy masqueraded as a grizzled man tending his lawn nearby, who turned the hose on Scout after the boys who nearly beat him to a pulp got bored.  
“What the hell was that?” he barked.

Scout sniffled and mumbled something under his breath.

“Who taught you to fight? Yer old man?” he asked, getting too into it.

Scout cast a venomous glare at the ground. “He was supposed to.”

“Well, that’s…not an excuse. I’ll teach ya how to throw a decent punch, kid. If you can help me with these damned weeds.”

I was there.

“Hey, uh, Spy,” Scout starts, scuffing his shoe against the doorjamb. Spy resists the urge to threaten to wipe the dirt from the floor with his son’s cheek.

“Oui?”

“You know, my ma’s birthday is coming up.”

“…is it.”

“Yeah. And, uh, it’s a special one. I’m pretty out of ideas. Everything I come up with seems stupid. You know the ladies. The mothers. Gross. Anyway, uh, do you have any ideas?”

“I used to get my mother the finest chocolates you could purch-”

“She’s not really a chocolates kind of ma,” Scout interrupted hurriedly. “I do flowers all the time. She wears the same jewelry. I asked Heavy. He said ‘ask your father for ideas’. Dumbass. Forgot I told him I don’t have a dad.”

Spy turned back towards his fireplace and regarded the embers.

“It is Saturday tomorrow, yes? Go into town. Look around. See what speaks to you. I would suggest something handmade. Maybe a new electric beater. She would like that.”

Scout doesn’t seem to hear the last part. “See, uh, that’s a fine idea and all, but I’ll probably still mess it up. Can you come with me?”  
He has a lot to make up for, he knows it, and it’s a long road with tiny steps. But Spy feels suddenly like his strides are a lot longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a request about engie's birthday from anonymous!

Soldier is always the first awake.

He can’t not make rounds in the morning, but Engineer has found a way around it. It’s like programming a computer. No one but me in my workshop, Soldier, important anti-communist work going on there. He knows Soldier still thumps the door of his unused room a few times in a friendly way at five a.m, but sleeping in the workshop is just fine. It’s why it’s so alarming when he hears the harsh tones of the man’s voice trying and failing to be quiet, jarring him awake like the sound of a smashing vase. It’s most likely he’s looking for a bucket or something, so probably best to be over with quickly.

Engineer stifles a yawn and pads out of the office he sleeps in, one bleary eye glancing at a cheerful clock announcing-yes, five a.m. He hasn’t woken up this early in a while. There’s a difference between being an early bird and being Soldier.

“Engineer?” Soldier is stage whispering, the toes of his boots just quivering over the threshold.

“What, Soldier?” 

“Here you go.”

“Okay, thank you,” the Texan says without really looking at the folded paper, and goes back to sleep.

“Truckie!” Sniper is waving at him enthusiastically from the window of his camper van. Engineer wipes his hands on a shop rag and ducks under the garage door closing off his workshop to the rest of the outside base, past where his own pickup is parked.

“Hey, Stretch.”

“I ordered this a while back, thought those wankers at the post office lost it. Here. It’s from Cuba. Special blend.”

The bag passed between them wafts up a scent to his nose that makes him start drooling like an coma patient.

“Why, this is is the best coffee I’ve ever smelled. I don’t know what to say, Sniper, I-”

“Enjoy it, mate.” 

He’s left in the dirt clutching the bag of ground beans, wondering if he’s been given three days to live and Medic ordered the team to be nice to him.

There’s another gift waiting in his workshop when he gets back. Must be Pyro. The rainbow wrapping paper is topped with fluffy bow, and despite his confusion, Engineer smiles to himself as he opens it.

“Well, I’ll be damned-!” 

Okay, maybe he really is dying.

The Schreuder 3000 blowtorch? Not exactly pocket change. Engineer sets it down quickly(gently) and hustles to the office. Where is that paper?

To Engineer:  
You are an adequate asset to this team. Enjoy a coupon for a week of no midday mile runs. Maggot.  
-Soldier

He’s dying.

Engineer feels honest panic as he jogs down the hallway, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He’s been forgetful lately. Did he snap, and everyone thinks he’s going to do it again? Medic isn’t in the medbay. Engineer swallows, hard. Maybe the kitchen.

He hears ticked-off voices, rising above each other and creating quite the din.

“Some of you just had to give your gifts early, so now the table looks threadbare-”

“Tryin’ to get an advantage, huh? My gift is the coolest. Doesn’t matter how early you gave yours to him, he’s gonna freak-”

“I’m freaked!” The Texan shouts as he slams the door open into the kitchen. “What the hell is going on-”

His whole team is standing around a cake, frozen, Pyro inches away from tall candles with a pink lighter. One of the streamers drifts down from the ceiling onto the table.

“What in Sam Hill are you doing?”  
“Proper conduct for a birthday, maggot!” Soldier barks at him.

“What?”

Spy rolls his eyes. “I told you, he’s going senile.”

“Happy birthday, laddie!” Demo raises his bottle of rum. “I promise, I didn’t drink yer present-”

“Oh, my Lord. I forgot.” Engineer slaps a hand to his forehead. “I forgot! I didn’t think I’d told any of you, though-”

“Spy told us.” Medic says cheerfully.

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. We sing song now.”

Engineer’s glad he isn’t dying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some engiespy for anonymous!

Spy’s lip has a tendency to curl inwards like a piece of burning paper when the smell of gasoline wafts under his nose. Engineer quickly hides a smile. He sees a lot of things behind his goggles, but he wouldn’t want to ruin it now.

“What are you smiling at, laborer?”

Too late.

“You must have a burnin’ reason to be out here for more than a minute.”

“The heat is out.”

“Ah. All right. I’ll be there in a minute.”

The Texan turns back to his work, raising his wrench above his head for a strike that’ll hopefully fix this damn dent. He pauses when his hand is a few inches above the piece of metal.

“Frenchie? You’re still here.”

“Oui. An astute observation.”

“I guess I’m fixing it now,” he sighs, and follows the other man out the door. The hallway is deserted, pale light filtering in from a window high above them. Their footsteps seem deafening. 

“Lord, what time is it?”

“Around three.”

“P.M?”

“Non.”

Engineer lets out a low whistle. “Why were you awake?”

Spy does not answer him. Things have been a little tight between them for a while, and Engineer tries to let the tension out like giving guitar strings slack. Spy is a private person. The kiss they shared was a lucky opportunity in private, but they hadn’t been so lucky since. Not even to talk about it. The team is always around, and admittedly, it was easier to escape to his workshop under the guise of needing to work when he had free time. Spy wasn’t the type to hang around common areas either, and that would mean Engineer would have to seek him out, which didn’t seem completely fair as Spy was the one who-

“Let me unlock the…right near your room, isn’t it? Guessing you felt it first?”

“Oui.” Spy answers simply. All right. Not giving very much, are we.

“Let’s see here…”

He drops into a squat, opening up a control panel and squinting to read the meter. Too dark. Dell removes his welding goggles and lets them hang around his neck.

“Ah, looks like it just blew out. A quick reset should fix it.”

No answer. He reaches out to flip the switch, and the door to the maintenance closet swings shut.

“Spy, the door, can’t see.”

A moment passes.

“I need your keys.”

“What’cha mean, I unlocked it. It’s unlocked.”

“It’s locked,” Spy tells him, exasperated. “Please tell me you ‘ave your keys.”

“Still in the door.” Dell answers softly.

They stand there for a minute in the dark. 

“No light in here, huh? Well. Soldier will be up in an hour or two.”

Spy mutters something he doesn’t catch.

Engineer can’t tell how long it’s been. Spy can’t read his watch in the dark. He didn’t know what to talk about, so he brought up the one thing that is on his mind, and a whole bunch of things came out, and now they’re sitting in worse silence.

“Do you regret it?”  
The Texan’s cheeks warm. “No. I don’t.”

“All right.”

“It just never seems like there’s time. Everyone’s so damn busy, and when we’re not busy we’re as tired as the grave-”

“There’s time now,” the Frenchman says simply, and it’s that sweet, glorious, rock-candy feeling again. All at once he’s feeling like he was electrocuted-and then real shock as the doorknob starts jangling. They scramble to their feet. 

Pyro stands in the doorway, head cocked to one side, flashlight in the other. They mutter something and hold out Engineer’s keys.

“Heat’s back on,” Engineer says simply, clapping a hand on Pyro’s shoulder. “Better check where it first happened.”

Spy follows the man into his own room, the ghost of a smirk tracing along his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavymed for anonymous!

They’re used to change. Have to be, really, it comes with the job like smoothing past the morality of killing men for money. Moving from base to base is an annoyance that never really ceases-leaving a favorite book in the mountains and not seeing it again until next winter, packing up every single tool and perishable food into the van and truck like a hibernation procession. Sniper stands there every time watching them all, hands on his hips like an impatient mother, flicking cigarettes onto the ground to be crushed by his heel. Medic can practically see the tapping foot and rolls his eyes inwardly. 

This particular annoyance of his has been stuck to him for countless months, pinching a nerve that he cannot find. Medic has the same set of surgical tools that travels with him, but every base’s medbay is not quite the same. It always takes Archimedes a day or two to find his way around again, and Medic bumps into trays that weren’t there at other bases, or loses trains of thought he had in thrilling surgeries. He knows Engineer gripes from dawn till dusk when he has to pack away every single nut and bolt. They must be used to it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  
Heavy has never said a word about it. 

Medic does his own share of griping, spitting German like seeds against a metal pail, moving the medigun to its ceiling holster this and that way, the angle never quite right. He might be one of the only ones that doesn’t mind when they’re stuck at a base for months on end. Heavy sits, and nods, and thumbs through a book half the side of his hand, ignoring the disarray of the medbay in a way that is utterly foreign to Medic. They’re constants for each other, the horizon against the ocean.

“We’re moving again,” says the dry voice of Spy from the doorway, decidedly without emotion. The bow of Medic’s violin removes itself from the instrument with a sharp screech. 

It’s stupid, really, a petty thing that he should be over by now. Medic crosses his arms as they go over bumps and potholes in the road as numerous as the freckles on Scout’s face. He should get used to it. But he can’t. Heavy smiles at him from the opposite side of Engineer’s truck, looming over Demo passed out slack-jawed between the two of them. Medic ignores the look. It’s a half-day of unpacking in Coldfront, fires steadily popping up in their stone basins, courtesy of the team arsonist. Medic’s left eyebrow is twitching something fierce. It’s something with the cold in the pipes of his sink, the water coming out metallic tasting and tinged brown, and no matter how long he runs it it won’t go away. It would be easiest to talk to Engineer about it, but something with Medic’s pride makes him see the best way is to keep ramming his foot into the pipe.

A hand on his shoulder.  
“Take a break,” Heavy says softly, eyes searching the back of the doctor’s head. “Look at it later. Rest with me.”

Medic bites his tongue. “Fine.”

He lets himself be coaxed onto the overstuffed reading couch Heavy likes, letting himself be pushed closer to the fire. They sit there for a while like stones growing moss, staring out the window at fresh flakes of snow stacking on the sill.

“I don’t know how you can stand to not be wearing two sweaters.” Medic murmurs, reaching up to remove his spectacles. The man behind him is a heater. Whatever Heavy does, it works, and he’s not complaining.

“Is not so bad.” A low rumbling sound rolls around in Heavy’s throat. “You would be icicle in Siberia.”

“A blessing you’re here, and not there, then,” Medic says, and lets himself drift to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavymed for randomuffin-yay!

“Hey, Truckie,” Sniper called, nudging Engineer’s foot with the toe of his boot, “Pyro’s here for ya.”

Engineer rolled out from under Sniper’s van, wrench clutched in one hand. It had been veering to the left lately, as his teammate claimed, and it was irritating that he couldn’t find anything wrong with it yet. It was his private suspicion-he’d seen Sniper drive before, after all-that those jars he kept in the footwell tended to slosh around dangerously near his feet, especially because the man didn’t keep the lids on too tightly. He’d experienced the deranged swerving on the highway. But Sniper insisted there was something wrong with it, and being a good person and all-

“Mhmpph!”

“What’s that about Medic, smokestack?”

Pyro pointed to the hallway from which they’d come, an urgent jabbing that prompted the Texan to get to his feet. “All right, I’m comin’. Sniper, I’ll be right back.”

“No worries, mate,” his friend called as the workshop door swung shut behind them.

“Okay, what’s going-” Engineer stopped short. Scout’s face lit up when they made eye contact, dropping his bat on the floor with a loud clatter. Medic lay slumped in the hall beyond him, coat billowing around his feet like a blanket.

“What in Sam Hill?”

“He’s dead, I think,” Scout proclaimed, bending over to pick up his bat. He resumed his pattern of poking Medic in the shoulder with it, a visible crease in the doctor’s coat widening with every jab. “Just layin’ there. Dead-like.”

“Respawn woulda picked him up if he was dead, Scout.”

“I guess. Maybe he’s dyin’ real slowly then.”

“How long has he been here?”

“I dunno. He was just layin’ here.”

Engineer squatted near Medic’s head and pressed two fingers to his throat. A strong pulse beat under them.  
“Don’t think he’s dyin’. I think he’s…hungover, maybe?”

“Really?” Scout’s laughter was loud enough to wake the dead. Engineer watched their teammate’s face. Not so much as an eyelid flutter. 

“Pyro, would you go get Heavy for me? We can put him under the medigun, see if that…does anything.”

His friend gave an enthusiastic nod and trotted away. 

“Scout, stop poking-”

“Mon dieu.” Spy interrupted, decloaking with a soft crackle behind Scout. “What did the cat drag in this time?”

“Leave him be, just looks like he had a rough night.”

“It was rough,” Heavy responded, following Pyro and ignoring Scout’s waggling eyebrows. “Doktor was on phone all evening with Administrator. Then he played violin for several hours. I do not think he slept.”

“Oh,” Scout said, disappointment heavy in his tone.

“This happens often.” Heavy said simply. “I will take him.”

Engineer patted Pyro on the shoulder and turned on his heel back to the workshop. “Missed an innuendo there, kid,” he called behind him, and Scout’s sputtering followed him all the way down the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavyspy for ardate!

Spy has excellent peripheral vision. He watches Heavy move around the kitchen as silently as a mouse, impressive for his size. The Frenchman shoves his nose deeper into his novel.

“That was an assist back there,” comes from inside the fridge.

Spy feels cool anger flood his fingertips. “I apologize. I make an effort to cease any possibility of interfering with-”

Heavy’s head appears over the top of the fridge door, eyebrows bunched. 

“No, you misunderstand, I was saying it was good thing. I am sorry.”

He can’t be angry. He knows the barrier of language all too well. But Spy doesn’t feel particularly generous either, and goes back to his novel without another word. The tension in the room is as palatable as some of his best wine. Spy would never say it, but he misses his friendship with Misha. He’d tried delving into his love of literature with his other literate teammates, but Heavy was the only one who matched his passions and interpretations. They loved the same authors, the same fine things, and as far as Spy knew, the way things were. But something had come between them lately, a rift that couldn’t be bridged. Spy didn’t want to confront it. He didn’t know what was causing it and a little afraid to ask. It was excruciatingly frustrating that Heavy only seemed to want to give him space. It was Heavy’s problem too, wasn’t it?

They did end up talking about it, at the worst possible time.

“Spy,” Heavy calls, just as the Frenchman’s wiping his knife on the coattail of an dead enemy Medic who was about to gift a bonesaw to the skull of his BLU counterpart. He acknowledges the nod from their Medic and reaches for his watch.

“I’ll catch up to you,” the Russian says as he cloaks once more.

Spy stands there for a minute, unsure what’s rooting him to the spot as Heavy seems to look right through him. 

“It is just like your novel,” Heavy says, “Where the two friends become lovers. They wish for things to be the same as before. It is a fear, that they will not be. But they take the risk. I read ahead. Things turn out fine.”

“That wasn’t the way I interpreted it. I knew you would read ahead, so I did the same. Life is different for them, and tumultuous. There’s no telling they will overcome-” 

“-but they have each other, no? It is like having family, no matter where you are.”

“I suppose,” Spy mutters, and uncloaks close enough to breathe on. Heavy places one massive hand on his shoulder.

“You are a person I would take risks for.”


End file.
